


a long, long time

by rachelweasley



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky likes to dance with Steve, Fluff, M/M, Steve likes to draw Bucky, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, everything i write turns out 10x cheesier than i intended, it's these boys, they're grossly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelweasley/pseuds/rachelweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<em>You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you</em>,” Steve sings, “<em>Or just how empty they all seemed without you.</em>”</p><p>He opens his eyes, leaning back so he can look at Steve. His expression conveys so much adoration that Bucky’s breath hitches for a moment.</p><p>Or: The first time Bucky told Steve he loved him. Then and now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a long, long time

**Author's Note:**

> What's my excuse this time? I was listening to _[It's been a long, long time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cG1L9wxYbs0)_ and this happened. Because I'm weak.

**Then**

“Stop moving.”

Bucky grunted but willed himself to stay still. “There’s only so long I can stay in the same position for.”

“You asked me to draw you, if you don’t remember correctly.” Steve looked up at Bucky and then down again, dragging his pencil across the paper with delicate strokes. “Stay still. Just focus on looking pretty.”

“Don’t I always?”

“You are the definition of modesty, Barnes.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, and then relaxed against the pillow. “Am I allowed to talk, at least?”

“Couldn’t stop you if I tried.”

Bucky moved his head to the side, looking at Steve so he had something to focus on. He always liked looking at Steve when he was drawing. Steve got so carried away, face scrunched up in concentration, that the rest of the world faded into nothingness. It was his own escape from his problems, and Bucky was glad that he had that.

“You look real pretty like this.” And it was true. He did. “Wish I was half as good as you so I could draw you, instead.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed in a matter of seconds. No matter how many times Bucky complimented him, he’d always turn shy or dismiss it. Bucky couldn’t understand why people didn’t see Steve the way he did. He was gorgeous.

“You’re even prettier when you blush like that.”

“Buck…”

“Yes, doll?” Bucky smiled. “You know I’m sweet on you. Can’t blame a fella for speaking the truth.”

Steve shook his head and continued to draw, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, and if that wasn’t a beautiful sight then Bucky didn’t know what was.

“Nothing pretty about me,” Steve mumbled. And Bucky hated that. Hated that Steve didn’t think he was someone worthy of praise and affection. It wasn’t something Bucky could change with a few words, though, no matter how many times he tried. It wasn’t as simple as that — not when Steve had grown up constantly being pushed aside and treated like he was worthless. Maybe Bucky was a fool for thinking that, perhaps, someday Steve would believe him when Bucky complimented him. He wasn’t one to give up.

“How about we take a break from the drawing?” He sat up, arching his back slightly and wincing when he heard his bones crack.

“I’m almost done.”

Bucky got up, walked to Steve, and sat down next to him, gently prying the sketchbook and pencil out of his hands. Steve huffed, trying to reach for them but sighed when Bucky gave him a pointed look.

“Come here.” He held Steve’s hand and pulled him to his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Did you want to stop so we could start necking?” Steve arched an eyebrow. “You know you can’t use that excuse for everything.”

“But I can try.” He grinned, leaning forward to nuzzle Steve’s cheek. “I can’t help it when you look like this.”

“I don’t understand what you see in me,” Steve confessed. “I ain’t a looker like you, Buck. I can only dream of that. You’re the only one who gives me the time of day and I don’t understand why.”

Bucky intertwined their fingers. “Everyone else is missing out. But… a selfish part of me doesn’t mind. I get you all to myself.”

Steve smiled. “Do you think you would feel this way if we hadn’t been best friends since forever? If we had only met now, would you still think I’m pretty?”

“Is that what you think? That I only like you because I’ve known you my whole life?”

“No,” Steve said, huffing a sigh. “But sometimes I wonder. If someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me.”

Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s back. “I would. Steve, I’m sure I would. How could I not? You’re the strongest guy I know. You always stand up for what you believe in. You’re smart, and sweet, and charming. You get yourself in way too much trouble and I’m in so deep that I find that _endearing_.” He chuckled. “If I met you now and got to know you, then you can bet that I’d end up liking you just as much. Luckily for me, though, I got to grow up with you.”

Steve was smiling then. He looked to where their hands were joined and brushed his thumb along Bucky’s knuckles.

“I’ve been a goner for you since I was sixteen, Steve. You have to know how much you mean to me by now.”

“I do.” Steve snuggled up to Bucky, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Tell me more. About how—pretty you think I am.” _That_ Bucky could do. Hell, he could probably write a whole book on why Steve Rogers was the prettiest thing to ever grace god’s green earth.

Then, “How about I show you, instead?”

Steve looked up at him and Bucky maneuvered him until Steve was straddling his thighs. Bucky leaned forward to press a kiss to Steve’s collarbone, where his shirt — which had once belonged to Bucky — was riding low. Bucky’s hands settled on Steve’s thighs as he kept kissing along the pale expanse of Steve’s exposed skin.

The blond threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair, a lazy, affectionate smile on his lips as he watched him.

Bucky knew that Steve didn’t need to be treated delicately. Yes, he bruised easily and, maybe, a strong wind could probably knock him over on a bad day. But Steve was tougher then he looked — he was the guy who got himself into fights on a weekly basis and constantly recovered from colds and, in worse years, pneumonia. That didn’t mean that Bucky couldn’t be gentle with him, though. Maybe Steve would shove him off if it happened because he thought Bucky was coddling him but, in moments like this, when they were being intimate, he _liked_ the gentle way Bucky touched him.

He lifted the shirt over Steve’s head, throwing it over the couch, and immediately placed his hands on Steve’s back. Bucky nudged Steve’s nose with his own and the smaller man leaned forward, capturing Bucky’s lips with his own. Bucky shifted so he could lay Steve on his back, and sat back on his knees.

The way Steve would blush, all the way down to his chest, still amazed him. His hands slid down Steve’s sides, coming to rest on his narrow hips, as he kissed Steve’s throat all the way down to his sternum. He heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath when Bucky’s kisses dropped lower and lower.

Bucky took his time; carefully mapping almost every inch of skin he could get his mouth and hands on, and he’d keep doing it if the hand Steve placed on his shoulder hadn’t started squeezing with an urgency Bucky knew all too well. He moved up, coming face to face with Steve, and kissing his flushed cheek. Bucky took Steve’s hand, guiding it between his own legs.

“You see what you do to me, doll?” Deep, blue eyes looked back at him. “It’s all you. You’re fucking gorgeous, Stevie, I’m telling you.”

Steve grabbed the back of Bucky’s neck and pulled him down for a rough kiss, their teeth knocking together in the process but neither of them caring. Bucky could feel Steve pressing against his thigh, and he moved slowly, feeling Steve gasp against his lips. He rushed to unbutton his pants, helping Steve with his, and then moaned when Steve wrapped a hand around both of them.

They moved together, swallowing each other’s moans and gasps, foreheads pressed together. Bucky fought to keep his eyes trained on Steve, focusing on the way he blushed for a complete different reason this time, and how he looked like he was almost lost in the moment. He couldn’t help but appreciate the way Steve held him with so much strength as he wrapped his legs around Bucky’s thighs, pulling him closer.

Bucky couldn’t even bring himself to care when they both came between them. It would feel uncomfortable and too sticky in a couple of minutes, but all he cared about in that moment was Steve clinging onto him, with a dopey smile on his face.

“Buck…” Steve whispered, fingers tracing Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky kissed the tip of his nose, and breathed in deeply, looking down at his brave, Brooklyn boy. He swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

“Something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Bucky shook his head. “Christ, no. Nothing wrong at all. I just—” He kissed Steve one more time, firmly, as if trying to prove something. “I love you.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly open. They had never said it that way — sure, there were a lot of causal _love you_ s, but always in the _you’re my best pal_ kind of way, but that was before. And Bucky didn’t need to specify that this time it was different. It was an _I love you_ like he had never said to anyone, and could only ever be said to Steve because that blond, little menace had crawled under his skin and Bucky couldn’t shake him off if he tried.

“You love me?” Steve was looking at Bucky like he had just heard foreign words and was trying to decipher what they meant. “As in—”

“As in I love you.” Bucky nodded. “I _love_ you. I have for a long time now.”

Steve suddenly lit up, looking like someone who had just heard the best news ever. He threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and breathed him deep when Bucky pressed against him. Bucky turned his head and pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispered. Then he chuckled, squeezing his eyes shut before looking fondly at Bucky. “I really do.”

“This would have been a little awkward if you didn’t,” Bucky joked, even though that was one of his biggest fears.

“That’s silly, Buck. How could you possibly think I didn’t feel this way about you?”

Bucky shrugged. “I guess I’m a lucky fella.”

“We both are,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips.

* * *

**Now**

The lights in the apartment are dimmed. Bucky sits on the windowsill, overlooking the street before him, as the smooth notes of the song fill the room. He closes his eyes and imagines the times he used to go out dancing. How sometimes he used to close his eyes and imagine the girl in his arm was Steve. How badly he wanted to be able to take Steve out to dance, to teach him how to move, and see him throw his head back in laughter as Bucky twirled them around.

Then he had — not out in public like he’d wanted — but one night he had decided that it was time for Steve to let go and ignore the fact that he had two left feet. It had been bumpy, messy, and Steve stepped on Bucky more than he’d like to admit. But they’d laughed and had fun and, as they kept doing it day after day, Steve had gotten the hang of it, even leading once or twice. It was never a perfect dance, but it was with Steve and that was enough for both of them.

Bucky sighs at the memories. Even with all the hardships they had gone through back then, they had always had each other, and they’d made each other happy. Bucky feels so deeply about Steve that it hurts to breathe sometimes. It’s an overwhelming love that makes him feel human again. And there it is — _love_ — something he never thought he’d feel again. But then again, Steve always had the ability to make all things possible. In truth, Bucky never stopped loving Steve. He’d just needed rediscover that part of himself. And he had.

The door of their apartment opens, and Bucky smiles. It’s always the best part of his day, when Steve arrives — when Steve is around. Just as the door closes, the song starts from the beginning. Bucky turns his head as Steve comes to rest with his shoulder against the doorway, looking back at Bucky. Neither of them say anything for a beat.

“I heard this song was very popular when the war ended,” Bucky starts, swinging his legs from the windowsill and walking to the middle of the room. “I can imagine… Soldiers returning home to their sweethearts and twirling them around while this plays in background. The type of thing you’d see in a movie.”

Steve takes a few steps closer, accepting Bucky’s extended hand. “If only it had been that simple for us.” His free hand comes to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “When I saw you for the first time, outside my apartment, Fury had played this song just moments before. Feels almost ironic.”

Bucky suppresses a chuckle. “Not the type of reunion I could have envisioned.”

“Well,” Steve tilts his head to the side, biting his bottom lip for a second, before continuing, “I guess we could try this out again.”

Bucky slides an arm around Steve’s waist. “Dance with me?”

Steve nods, eyes glinting. “Haven’t danced with anyone in years.” He leans forward, nose brushing along Bucky’s cheekbone.

“When was the last time?”

“Me and my best guy. 1944. Snuck out of camp at night and he hummed a tune while we held each other.”

He remembers it clear as day. It was barely dancing, it just was their bodies swaying from side to side as they tried to remember simpler times, hoping for an escape from all the death and violence around them.

It’s almost like that now. Steve abandons Bucky’s hand to loop both arms around his waist, bringing their bodies closer.

_Never thought that you would be / Standing here so close to me / There's so much I feel that I should say / But words can wait until some other day_

Steve buries his face on the crook of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky can feel him singing along to the song. Can feel him singing to Bucky, because the lyrics represent what they both feel.

_Haven't felt like this, my dear / Since I can't remember when / It's been a long, long time_

Bucky runs his fingers along the back of Steve’s neck, feeling the soft hairs at the base, and when Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s, he closes his eyes, smiling at the fact that their bodies move so in synch, even after years of not dancing together. It feels like muscle memory.

“ _You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you_ ,” Steve sings, “ _Or just how empty they all seemed without you_.”

He opens his eyes, leaning back so he can look at Steve. His expression conveys so much adoration that Bucky’s breath hitches for a moment. Steve takes Bucky’s hand again, curling his own around it and resting it on his chest, above his heart.

“ _So, kiss me once, then kiss me twice_ ,” Bucky continues, brushing his lips against Steve’s, “ _Then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time_ …”

He feels Steve smiling into the kiss, heads tilting in opposite directions so their mouths can fit together. It's sweet, innocent, and gentle, and no words can describe how Bucky feels in that moment. He suspects it’s the same with Steve.

They stay like that for a while, swaying from side to side as the song repeats itself again and again.

_It’s been a long, long time…_

And, yet, they're both there. Together.

*****

Steve thinks he’s being subtle.

What he seems to forget is that Bucky can tell if someone is looking at him even if they’re in two opposite sides of a battle field, which means he can definitely sense Steve’s eyes on him now.

Bucky is sprawled on his back on the couch, metal arm hanging at his side and the other tucked underneath his head. He’s been alternating between looking at the ceiling and closing his eyes, letting his mind wander.

Steve is sitting in his favourite armchair, the grey one that stood out in the mix of their black and brown furniture. He has his sketchbook on his lap — leather bound, _Property of Steven G. Rogers_ engraved at the foot of the first page — a present from Bucky. The sound of the charcoal he uses to trace lines and shadows onto the paper ever so soothing to Bucky. He knows that Steve keeps glancing at him, translating onto the paper what he’s seeing in front of him.

Bucky fights a smile, knowing that Steve always tries to be subtle about the fact that he draws Bucky all the time now, almost as if to prove to himself that Bucky is there, alive and, debatably, whole. As if drawing him would guarantee that Bucky wouldn’t go anywhere, or as if he wanted to memorise Bucky’s every movement so he couldn’t forget it if he tried.

And Bucky—he likes that. It feels like a constant reassurance that Steve still wants him and craves his presence constantly.

So when he can tell, almost for sure, from all the years of practise, that Steve is done, tracing the final touches of his drawing, Bucky turns to him, finally smiling.

“You still look beautiful like this.”

Steve looks up then, almost as if surprised by the sound of Bucky’s voice after both of them had been silent for nearly two hours. He still blushes and ducks his head after he realises what Bucky has just said.

“You know I was drawing you.”

“Subtlety has never been your forte,” he jokes, and nods towards the sketchbook. “You all done?”

“Yeah.” Steve glances down, fingers smudging along the lines he traced. “I couldn’t help it. You looked peaceful. Add that to the glow coming in from the sunset… I should draw you with colours next time.” He glances up at Bucky, a fond look in his eyes. “It still wouldn’t do you any justice.”

Bucky grins. “You keep talking like that and you might just get lucky tonight.”

Steve rolls his eyes, then gets up and walks to the couch, picking up Bucky’s legs and setting them on his lap when he sits down. He hands Bucky the sketchbook. Bucky takes it and, no matter how many times he’s seen Steve’s drawings, he’s always taken aback by just how talented his best guy is. It feels like he always pours so much love and dedication into it, and Bucky feels his heart swell because, when he sees himself from Steve’s point of view, he feels like he’s good enough because that’s how Steve sees him.

He closes the book and sets it on the coffee table before reaching up and pulling Steve down to settle next to him.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Steve snakes a hand underneath Bucky’s shirt and smiles. “Yes,” he murmurs, “you are.”

Bucky leans closer and presses their lips together. It’s a sweet kiss, tender and gentle, and it makes Bucky sigh.

James Barnes: sniper and ex-assassin, feels giddy when his boyfriend kisses him.

The thought makes him chuckle.

Steve arches an eyebrow, blue eyes searching Bucky’s face. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking that you make me happy.”

Steve’s face lights up at that. Hearing Bucky express that he’s happy is a rare thing nowadays, but when it happens Steve smiles wide and bright, like Bucky’s happiness is the most important thing in the world.

“And,” Bucky continues, rolling his eyes fondly at Steve, “that I really love you.”

Bucky thinks that if Steve smiles any wider he’s going to hurt his cheeks. Then suddenly Steve’s rolling them over, sprawling on top of Bucky, and kissing him like his life depends on it.

Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s and keeps smiling that sweet smile he only shows whenever he’s around Bucky. “Jesus, I love you.”

“Actually, it’s Bucky.”

Steve swats at his arm. “Don’t ruin the moment, jerk.”

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and pulls the blond closer. “Let’s go out later. We’ll get ice cream and everything.”

“Oh, you wanna go out? Are you asking me on a date?” Steve teases.

“I’m trying to keep the romance alive, _Steven_. One of us has to try.”

Steve narrows his eyes, then his face softens. “Let’s go dancing. Nothing to stop you from taking me out now.”

Bucky brushes a strand of hair from Steve’s forehead. “You’re right, there isn’t. I still wish we could go dancing like in the 30s, though. I’ve got nothing against modern dancing or all the clubs, but…”

“But it was special, back then. Still is. We’ll work something out.” Steve’s face scrunches up, the way it does when he’s trying to come up with a smart plan. “We could improvise something.”

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking, doll,” Bucky chuckles. “I don’t mind where or how we dance. Just as long as you’re with me.”

“I love when you get all sappy.” His smile and twinkling eyes betray his teasing tone. “I love you.”

“I like hearing you say that.”

“That you’re sappy? Yes, just stating the facts, Buck.”

Bucky snorts and swats at Steve’s ass, earning a groan in response. He lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really?”

Steve grins. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, trying to sound annoyed, “I do.”

When Steve leans down to kiss him, Bucky thinks that as long as he gets to be with Steve — no matter what life throws at them — he’ll be happy.

They both will.


End file.
